


Welcome to the University of Alola!

by KoroMarimo



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, F/M, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Prooooooobably ddlg later, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex Toys, Took my life from negative to a positive, forgive me Father for I have sinned, positive body image
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroMarimo/pseuds/KoroMarimo
Summary: High school sucked. Let's be for real. Twelve years of suffering through both island trials and fucked up high school cliques didn't prepare you for the vastly different experience of college life. Here, it was better. You blended into the crowd. You got invited to parties. You changed your attitude and your style of dress. And now, because of a certain keg party hosted by some Becky and some Chad, you scored a boyfriend that reeked of weed and fulfilled every empty aspect of your life.Oh, and he also happens to be a "notorious" gang leader.





	1. Score! Or how some Becky got you laid.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, if you can't find me after reading this, I have no idea what to say to you. This fic should be a dead giveaway.
> 
> This is what you get when the author's thirsty ass is in college.
> 
> Explicit content ahead. Read at your own risk.

Drugs were involved in this party. That’s all you remembered from what your classmates had told you.

Roughhousing, general mayhem, trap music, bottles being thrown against the walls with no regard for the campus police should they show up, dancing border lining sin that should only be done in the confines of a dark room. All this and more taking place in this dorm room of squalor. Some fucking hovel belonging to a friend of a friend of a classmate only a hop skip away from Toucannon Library was where you currently were. Your classmates had invited you after your Uppity Medieval Women class: some bitch who didn't say hi to you once and her balding forty something boyfriend/chewtoy/thing had approached and invited you to a celebration on campus. They were currently living it up somewhere, having already partaken in what you suspected was amphetamines and Frangelico. And there you are in the corner, more stone cold sober then you could ever be, perched on a desk and macking on some stranger that you don’t even know the name of.

This had come to be fairly quickly. You’d been sitting on the desk rather lonesome after the two classmates had abandoned you, a bag of leppa berry chips in one hand and a soda pop from the campus deli in the other (you didn’t trust anything here at this party). The dude had come up to you and taken a seat about ten minutes into the party, reeking of weed and dressed in sweatpants with a jacket. You’d looked him up and down and he’d done the same, nudging your thigh with his hand while you knocked a knee against his. This play continued for an hour. A game of wits that involved bumping and petting until your inner conscience said “Fuck it, I need a good time.”, and you found yourself straddling him, purposefully grinding yourself against his hard dick through his sweatpants and tasting every inch of his mouth.

“Give me a hickey!” you scream into his ear when some frat bitch Becky falls into you and spills her drink all down the back of your colligate tank top.

“What?!”

“I said give me a… Oh fuck it, never mind!”

Your hands wander instead to the back of his head, rubbing the roughness of his black undercut and leading his chapped lips away from your face and onto your neck where FINALLY he takes the hint. He’s a good looking dude. All legs and white hair with funny looking purple tattoos on his arms, and the most obnoxious looking sunglasses to exist in the history of ever. One of the lenses looks like it's eyebrow is cocked, taking in everything it sees with skepticism. You’ve seen him on campus before- he was probably a local- lurking by your bus stop and extinguishing joints on the sign proudly proclaiming UNIVERSITY OF ALOLA. Not homeless though. His golden wristwatch and new “j’s” dispel that idea real quick. He follows and makes friends with whoever utters the words “keg”, “smoke”, or “party”, had asked you twice if you had a light, and seemed to walk away with a group of people every few days on a good week. Gangster as shit, but still attractive none the less.

“Someone spilled something on you!” he yells when he comes back up. You can feel your skin bruising where his lips have been. Sore, will definitely leave a mark, but at least you’re not leaving this party empty handed again.

“I know!” you reply, “Fucking Becky down there spilled it on me!”

The girl is laying by his feet, her cup feebly clutched in her hand and a warbled “whoooooo” emanating from her throat when the Chad in charge of music plays “Summertime Sadness”.

“Becky is eating a cup!” he responds, cackling as she tries sipping the dregs of her drink which has by now soaked your shorts too.

You laugh, and since you are so blissfully unaware of what happens when you smile and show teeth, it takes you by surprise when he pulls you in for more tongue. You don’t mind it. You can feel your kisses are making his erection poke up and it makes you giddy with pleasure that you can produce this effect on a man. High school sucked. Your island trials were a blur from all the bullying and taunting that happened when your classmates found out you had scraped by thanks to the kindness of a kahuna taking pity on you. Now college was different. Here, so many locals and foreigners comingled and formed their own little worlds that you felt graciously left out of the loop. You became more cynical, dressing up in short shorts and colligate tank tops and adapting this no bullshit attitude that made your teachers laugh. After the first semester it felt as though you were going to be ok.

You didn’t need to worry anymore about anyone else’s approval. Not when you could score at a party and make it seem like child’s play.

“Let’s geddafuckouttahere!” screams the dude into your ear. He says “get the fuck out of here” just like that, all one garbled mess, that it makes you want to “geddafuckouttahere” too.

“Okay!” you respond, and before your drunk friends near the speakers can see that their sober pal is ditching them you both are already stepping over the girl on the floor and heading for the door, laughing when the dude exclaims loudly and grabs your soda pop and chips before leading you out.

“What’s your name?” you ask when the two of you are out of the dorms and on your way towards the bus stop that will shuttle you both to your car. He opens the cap and takes a large drink of your soda pop, belching when he’s finished and handing it back to you.

“Guzma, yours?” He’s breathless from chugging the damn thing to the dregs.

You tell him before opening the cap and taking a drink. You get a swallow of soda pop before the bottle is all gone. The dude, Guzma, wraps his arms around your waist and walks with you to throw it in the trash, lifting you up into his arms when you’re done and making you laugh as he showers you with kisses.

“Your place, or mine?” you ask matter of factly. Who cares about being shy? Shy ain't never got you laid before. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you in the direction of the bus stop. He has to have been watching you come and go from this place every single day, because he plops down on the bench with you on his lap and patiently waits for the bus to come as though he has done this with you every day for the past four semesters.

“Yours.” Guzma replies, attacking your neck with fervor and rubbing his hands up and down your back, “Too many people at mine right now. We’d probably have a fucking audience.”

“My house is a fucking mess.” You say, taking fistfuls of his white hair as he chews and fucking sucks up your skin like a vacuum cleaner.

“Don’t matter.” Guzma says, the smallest bit of a smirk lingering on his lips melting into ecstasy when he pulls away and you get to working on leaving some hickeys on him as well, “Don’t care how it look, don’t care how far it is, gotta fuck you right now.”

The bus fucking takes forever, usually slows down after seven o'clock and here it is coming up on nine forty five, nearly fifteen minutes until they stop running altogether and the two of you have to walk to "Toxipex" Parking lot (or TLot, as it's called on your parking permit, with a little Toxipex at the bottom in UofA regalia). When it finally comes and you both are in the parking lot hidden away in your worn out car, you can't contain yourself any longer and tell Guzma rather forcefully to pull his dick out. He complies readily, letting out a series of lewd moans and mantras of "oh baby, fuck!" as you give him a handjob on the way to your apartment. It's a short drive away from campus, only twenty one minutes if you take the back road home, and once you park and force him to tuck it back into his pants he's already slapping your ass telling you to hurry up as you fumble for the key.

"Come on!" he groans, "Hurry up!"

"Ok, ok! Get your ass in there!"

He bolts inside, hardly giving you time to lock the door before he's there attacking you with his mouth, slobbering clumsily as he attempts to mack on you like at the party. But you're not in the mood for any sort of foreplay. You're wet already and God help you if he doesn't just do you right now you're going to freak out. Immediately you pull away, flicking on the light switch that illuminates the room and pulling down your shorts and underwear and then bending over on the arm of your couch. Using your fingers, you spread the lips of your pussy wide open to present your tight cunt to him, a cute display of glistening skin in a pretty color if you might say so yourself. With a slight wiggle you evoke a silent invitation. You're willing to be fucked like a bitch right here and now.

"Ohhhh fuck!" Guzma whines, and you can hear him masturbating furiously. Each pump of his dick creates a wet slapping sound, and you can only imagine his testicles jiggling with the effort of pumping his hard cock. "Your cunt is fucking dripping!"

"Then get the fuck over here and stick it in!" You whine. Your legs spread even further. The accumulation of your fluids is already at maximum. Great drops of it are dripping down your legs and you're filled with this big need/want for him to have his way with you.

Thank God, he isn't some fucking pansy ass bitch wanting to waste time. Immediately he mounts, sliding deeply inside with one swift motion and filling you up. There are odd sensations. Hard protrusions that poke up from the shaft of his penis and the head. They're warmed, but still awkward inside. You're too drenched to feel any pain, and immediately you take the initiative and ride the shit out of him, thrusting yourself into his crotch and biting into the material of the couch arm. A wet slapping sound fills the air. You feel every fucking inch of his dick stretch out your pussy in that delicious way only unique to sex with a cock. Nothing goes through your head. Blissful nothing. You're only focused on riding his cock and feeling him massage the inside of your cunt with that blessed ass dick.

"Ooooh fuck, am I tight for you?"

Your voice comes out foreign. Soft. Yet undeniably lewd. A pornstar has possessed your body and now speaks for you like an envoy of Satan. Your movements are professional, business-like. Your ass grinds into Guzma's lap.

"Yeah!" Guzma cries. "Fuckin' takin' this dick like a pro, you slut... All fuckin' wet for me."

A wanton coo pushes past your lips. Guzma takes fistsfulls of your hair and yanks you back towards him. Your tops rub against each other, with a free hand he cups your breast and pinches the nipple through the fabric of your shirt and bra. You groan in ecstasy, begging him to ruin you so good sex won't ever be the same. His marks are all over your neck. Every inch of his cock thrusts roughly over and over that you're not sure how anyone's mind can't turn into mush when it's this good of a fuck. The feeling is hard to describe; how could anyone understand how good it feels to clench around a throbbing, warm cock and feel that intense pressure just under your cervix? It's a feeling that makes you want to be nasty. A feeling that makes you want Guzma to wreck every inch of your pussy, and then move on to another hole.

"FUCK! I'm gonna destroy this fuckin' cunt!" Guzma screams, fucking hell is he loud as shit... His hand makes contact with your ass in a hard _SMACK,_ thrusting deeply inside and massaging your walls with his hard, thick cock. You cry out in delight, drool running down the sides of your mouth and strangled moans coming in time with his hard, rocking thrusts. At this point you are totally out of your goddamn mind. He makes you cum multiple times, each time begging you to milk him until he dries up. Hell fucking yes you will milk him. You have no intention of giving up now, not when he knows how to make you orgasm just by bouncing on his cock and stimulating yourself over and over. He's like a live sex toy, only this one presses heavily against your back and kisses you with tongue when you want it. The couch pounds against the wall. Giving away everything that's happening to your neighbors who will probably call the cops with the amount of screaming you both are doing.

"Guzma!" You whimper.

"Gonna fuckin' make this cunt mine." He snarls into your ear.

"It's all yours...!"

"Take it! Take it like a BITCH!" Guzma howls, and with a final thrust the sex is over, causing your own orgasm along with his as you feel him pump desperately two more times (You've heard girls can't cum from vaginal sex alone, and you wonder vaguely if this is the trade off from your inability to squirt.). His cock throbs, your walls pulsate and clench around him, and after he's completely spent Guzma's dick falls out and presses limply against your ass while his cum drips thickly down your legs. He takes the liberty of laying across your back, pressing his head against the couch arm and breathing heavily while you mewl in ecstasy. You don't mind how heavy he is. It's comforting feeling him press against your back. Extra security from the vulnerability you feel being half naked and exposed on the couch arm. Pent up with all these emotions, you shudder and whimper, a thick glob of semen having just poured out and sending you into a fit of erotic pleasure.

"What's wrong?!" Guzma immediately jumps.

"You came a lot!" You accuse. "You filled me up to the brim, God... Don't think I've ever had that much inside of me before."

"Heh... I'm glad. Thank you babe. Ya don' like to waste time, do ya?" Guzma asked coyly, planting a kiss on your forehead before slipping onto the couch, pulling up his pants as he lays back onto the cushions.

"Why the hell waste time when I can have you all to myself immediately? I'm not about that insecure shit." you respond. "And why thank you?"

" 'S nice to tell someone thank you if they do somethin' nice for ya. My mama taught me that." He smiles, putting his arms behind his head and reclining like he owns the place. There's a bit of semen on his pants, and this strikes you as surprisingly intimate. You decide to impose yourself, pulling up your shorts as well and laying down on top of him. A brief moment of anxiety is dispelled when you realize that, thank GOD, he's a cuddler, and even better you are drawn again into making out with him. Guzma's moans punctuate the clicking sounds your tongues make against each other.

“Do you wanna stay the night with me?” you ask quietly between kisses. “I could use a round two?”

He considers briefly, looking around the room at your little hovel furnished rather cheaply. It’s a bit of a mess, but little do you know that this looks like the fucking Tide Song Hotel compared to where he lives. Originally he hadn’t intended on staying here in Mele’Mele this long.

“I might could stay here a while wit ya.” Guzma responds, “Ain’t got nowheres to be anyway. Got anythin’ to eat in the mornin’?”

“Yeah, I do.” You smile. This is the best thing to happen to you in quite a long time. Guzma nods in the affirmative to spend the night and you nuzzle his neck, reciprocating the hickey he gave you at the party much to his delight. If someone would have come up to you, say, a week before in your English Literature class, to tell you that this was the night you would score and get a boyfriend all at the same time, you might have laughed at their face and told them to run the fuck up out of there. Your father had said once that college was going to be the best years of your life. And well, it must have been mostly true.

For the most part.


	2. Deli Sandwiches, Landing a Boyfriend and that part with the Oral Sex.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just shitting out these chapters as I go forgive me.

The morning after is awkward as hell. It’s 7:30 am, you have class in an hour and Guzma shows no intention of waking up, even after you shove him roughly and speak well above a whisper to make him wake the fuck up. He lays there in your large bed, honking like a Ducklett in his sleep butt ass naked in the wet spot (you’d fought him for the dry side and won, but for some reason he didn’t seem to mind at all sleeping in stained sheets). You’re sitting on the other side of him fully dressed, a peanut butter sandwich snacker from the Thrifty Megamart in your mouth, and contemplating whether or not to leave a complete stranger in your bed while you go to class.

 _I mean, I could…_ you think, _But how do I know homeboy ain’t gonna just abscond with my shit?_

“Guzma.” You say in his ear, voice projecting so loudly it makes your Meowth in the next room skitter on the tile of the kitchen.

He doesn’t respond a whit. Giving up, you decide to leave your Golisopod at home to keep an eye on the dude. Golisopod’s Quick Ball rests in your backpack inside a metal lunch box that retains its shape. That way he and the others don’t get squashed by the multitudes of books, notebooks, and the solitary laptop you keep in there. When Golisopod comes out, he immediately goes to poke at Guzma with a talon, growling at the new intrusion in your normally quiet little home.

“Good luck Gazpacho, homie’s D-E-A-D dead to the world my guy.” You say as you pick up your backpack and place Meowth inside her Pokeball. “Keep an eye on him until I get back. Make sure he doesn’t jack my shit.”

Your Pokémon takes it to heart, plopping down at the edge of the bed while Guzma snores like a fucking chainsaw. A moment is taken in the doorway for you to chuckle lightly, but the dread of being late to class sparks a fire under your ass and you bolt for the car. There's surprisingly a lot of traffic this morning, at one point it comes to a standstill for a good five minutes, causing you to growl and honk at the horn.

"Hey, Rotom!" You call to your PokéDex and it responds with a cheerful artificial ding and a smile, "Tell Professor Obe: I'll be late this morning. Traffic unbearable."

"Ready to send it?" RotomDex replies with a pinging sound.

"Attach photograph and then send."

"Done!"

There's the clicking of a camera shutter as he obediently faces the windshield and snaps a photo. Rotom forwards the message along with a photograph of the traffic ahead. At least you'll have an excuse to waltz in late with a Komala Coffee.

Class is relatively uneventful when you do waltz in fifteen minutes late with a coffee cup in your hand. Your creative writing teacher pisses you off, you lose focus in modern occult and contemporary paganism because you failed one of the quizzes, all in all just another day where you shut off completely from the world and spend your class time fucking around on social media on RotomDex. It's a good thing they've stopped letting island trialgoers and tourists into campus without permission. Last semester you were swamped with homework in addition to dealing with snot nosed brats with level 10 Rattata who thought foolishly that they could take on a student of University of Alola.  All of the students here were bitter legal adults, done with high school and island trials with Pokémon ranging from upwards of level 50. You happened to be in the top three spots in the campus hierarchy, all of your Pokémon including your Meowth were level 100, maxxed out stats thanks to your ability to do out of region super training, and held Z crystals that supplemented their abilities. You and two other girls had complained about the constant pestering, and only recently had the campus been closed off to all who were neither students, faculty, or employees of the businesses within the school walls. Didn't mean that locals without Pokémon couldn't get in however, otherwise you would have never met Guzma.

You wonder vaguely in the middle of a lecture if Guzma is still passed the fuck out on your bed, drooling all over the pillow and honking with Gazpacho waiting to murder him with a well-placed Ice Beam or Blizzard. Naturally your mind wanders back to the blissful four rounds of one night stand sex (two quickies, one anal, and the oral. HOLY SHIT the oral). With a shudder you can’t believe what a risk you’ve taken. You have no idea who this dude is. Just some rando fuck that you've bedded in a night, not even knowing his medical history or if he even cares about contraception. You plan to get tested at the health center later in the week when everything can show up on a test. Certainly this was one of those fucked up mistakes that would probably come back later on to bite you in the ass, but you liked to be optimistic and hopeful about the prospect of Guzma being a clean, respectful dude that will definitely still be there when you come home.

_I mean shit. That’s proably the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Sure homeboy’s breath stinks like hell and I fucking got pubes stuck in my teeth, but at least he’s nice. God does he eat pussy good holy shit. Dick ain’t bad either but those fucking piercings scared the shit out of me. Oh my God what if it’s like Grey’s Anatomy where one of them gets stuck in me. Eugh that would be awful. I mean if we’re gonna do this long term he’s gotta take ‘em out. What if he does wanna go out with me? Maybe he’ll wanna go to dinner with me tonight… Or I could bring him something from the deli… He might like that. If he’s still breathing by the time Gazpacho gets a hold of him for absconding with my shit._

People around you are suddenly standing up and collecting their bags. You stash your shit and make a mad dash for the door, ignoring your friends who call out to you and making a beeline for the deli just outside the class.

“Hey! Where’re you going?!” one calls out, “We’re supposed to go meet up with the others from workshop!”

“Taking a raincheck sweets.” You call back, picking up a couple sandwiches and chips before throwing them onto the counter where the frazzled cashier and his Comfey just stared with a dead expression at you. “Gotta get home and make sure my stuff’s still there.”

You don’t stop to elaborate on what you mean by this. Instead you pay for your purchases and book it all the way to TLot where you have to calm down a bit before starting the car. The food and your backpack get buckled in the front seat, and you head out of the lot onto the freeway where you do battle with lost ass tourists and pissed off locals trying to get into the lanes. The commute feels much longer than 21 minutes when you’ve potentially got someone waiting for you back at home, and when you finally pull into your parking space and run to open the door, you’re surprised to find that Golisopod hasn’t managed to kill Guzma, nor has your stuff been taken far away. Instead you are surprised to find Guzma on the floor, cuddling with Golisopod and making him purr.

"Happy lil' guy ain'tcha?" Guzma says softly as he scratches under Golisopod's chin like a cat. You’ve never heard Golisopod purr with anyone else except you. Guzma looks up expectantly when he hears the door close, notices you’re back, and lights up immediately.

“Hey!” he exclaims, “Is he yours? You didn’t tell me ya had a Golisopod too!”

“Gazpacho.” You breathe. Golisopod makes a husky sort of squeak when you call his name. “His name is Gazpacho.”

“Cute babe!” Guzma grins, “Real cute! I like seein’ girls with bug Pokémon. Shit’s real hot.”

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive and managed to get on his good side.” You reply, stepping into the living room and placing the food and your backpack on the coffee table. “I’d have thought you would have been turned into a popsicle by now with how pissed he was at seeing you in the bed.”

“Ya taught him ice type moves?” he asks enthusiastically, “Kick ass! So he’s got the advantage ‘gainst dragons. I like that too. Pokémon who can learn different move sets are way better then variety!”

“I just pick the ones I like.” You say, letting out your smaller Pokémon (Mimikyu and Meowth) to wander about with Gazpacho.

“Tits, very tits.” He praises, and then he seems to become a bit sheepish.

"Here, I got us something from the deli at school." You say, handing him a sandwich and chips. "I don't have much to cook right now, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Trust me, ya still got more food then I do at home." He insists through a big mouthful of bread and ham. "Got pasta an' rice in yer cabinet, 'n you still got them string cheeses wit soda. Ain't shit at my house. No money to buy nothin'."

"You came here on a good day then, when that direct deposit hit." You grin.

You both spend time together like that: drinking soda pop and eating sandwiches while Guzma tells you snippets of his day, and you tell him some of yours. It's after all the banter dies out and the sandwiches are nothing but crumbs when he actually starts to show signs of unease. As though you're going to scream at him.

“So… Sorry I didn’t get out this mornin’..." he says awkwardly, "Kinda couldn’ find no key to lock up afore I left, ‘n ur big guy here wouldn’ really let me out ‘till I started playin’ with him.”

“No worries.” You smile. “I was kind of hoping you would stay. Maybe we could chill for a bit and, I dunno... Kinda wanted to ask if you could eat my pussy again.”

He’s in the middle of drinking a soda pop when you make your request, and in the next moment it splurts out all over the carpet. Guzma spends quite some time choking before he can actually respond to you.

“Jeez fuck!” he chokes, “You don’t waste no fuckin’ time at all! Fuckin’ what’s the word…”

“Insatiable?” you grin.

“Yeah. That one!”

“I mean… If you don’t want to I won’t make you-“

You’re cut off by Guzma’s lips on yours, pulling you down to the carpeted floor with him where Mimikyu and Meowth scatter into your bedroom. Golisopod evidently takes the hint as well, and lumbers away into the bathroom. You can hear the sound of the tap running. Smart little bastard figured out how to turn on the water in the tub so he could sit in it like a happy little moron. Guzma wastes no time in rearranging you both after your tongues have had enough of each other, maneuvering you so that crotches align with faces. Kind of a hard task when he's six foot four and you're very small, but he gets it right.

“Lay on your side ‘n take this dick.” Guzma commands under his breath, pulling his pants down and letting his cock flop out and hit you in the face. You greedily took all of it into your mouth, bobbing down to the base where you heard him inhale and hiss a very audible "fuck".

Good god… THE ORAL SEX. FUCKING YES!

You’ve been thinking about this so much during all those classes that the piercings don’t even scare you this time around. All thought it blocked out as you take him deeply into your throat, priding yourself on taking all of him in and too preoccupied with his musky taste to feel him pulling your shorts and panties down. Thank God he’s not a tease either, otherwise you would have bitten the shit out of him and called it quits. Guzma dives into your pussy all tongue and lewd slurping noises, focusing on your clit because he’s learned after four rounds of sex that’s where you like it the most. Little do you know he loves that you’re not a penetration kind of girl unless it comes to his dick. He feels possessive of your cunt, only his penis belongs there. Everywhere else it seems is fair game to fingers, tongue, whatever he can shove in there. He's an expert at oral, never have you ever had someone devour your pussy quite like he has.

"Mmn!! So yummy~...!" You can feel the stupid tilde that makes your voice squeak as you feel Guzma's slippery tongue caress your folds and clitoris with such gentle motions. He makes a happy noise from his throat, too busy for any sort of talking. Much too absorbed in pleasuring you as you feel his tickling tongue probe at your bundle of nerves, sparking some sharp sensation that makes your thighs want to squeeze together and savor the ecstasy.

You cry out from a mouthful of cock, Guzma clutching your legs around his head and licking all around on that pussy until you pull away from bobbing on the hard shaft of his cock and groan. He pokes you relentlessly in the face with it, and even threatens briefly to stop, so you begin your own assault with tongue on his taint, balls, shaft, everywhere you can reach. You follow every crevice and wrinkle on his sack, going so far as to stretch enough to eat his ass. He'd complained about that last night, no girl ever wanted to do anything for him. You're happy to oblige him, and you happily stick a moistened finger in his asshole only to hear him cry out in pleasure and shudder while his face is buried in your privates. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re flying blind by this point as you willingly gag down his cock. The only focus is letting Guzma assault your clit with rapid flicks of the tongue, and to make sure that you savor every drop of his semen when it comes. His own moans and the deep vibrating timbre of his voice function better than any vibrator ever could, and when his tongue slides further down and teases your hole you can’t contain it anymore.

“Don’t do that anymore!” you sob, pulling away from his cock. “Just my clit. G-gonna cum!”

He silently obliges, tickling it with the tip of his tongue until you absolutely explode inside, squeezing Guzma’s head in an effort for him to stop. The fucked part is how sensitive you get after the whole thing, but when you cry for him to stop he denies you rest with a muffled “nuh uh”. There's no stopping him even when you're so overstimulated that your orgasm begins to hurt. He continues his assault until your cries cause his own orgasm, his cock throbbing painfully and squirting jet after jet of his warm semen so plentiful that some even manages to make it up and out of your nose. It’s not until he’s done pumping it into you that he pulls away from your privates and pulls you off his cock for a kiss, both of you snowballing his fluid back and forth until he retains everything, and then spits it all back into your own mouth to swallow. You do so eagerly.

“Will ya go out with me!” he blurts out. At first, you're unsure that he's sincere. Probably still feeling that post orgasmic bliss, but you didn’t care really.

“Yes… I love you!” you blurt out. It stuns him, and he doesn’t know how to take it. This is a one night stand lasting for more than twenty four hours and you’re already in love?

Fuck he's hit the jackpot.


	3. Yes You Went into Trader Slowbro's Smelling Like That, Ya Nasty...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guzma leaves for the ferry, you finally get your shit together and buy groceries, and you're one chapter closer to the obligatory Po Town/Team Skull reveal chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bastard stumped me so much that I waited until after graduation to post it. It makes me sad that I'll no longer be a college student while writing this, but I'd like to think of this story as fond memories that I'll remember as I embark on the journey of the rest of my life. Maybe I'll return to school again someday, who knows? University of Hawai'i was preeeeetty nice ;P

He stays on for three, blissful days. Every one is the same: alternating between sex, eating, talking, sex, television, Pokémon, and more sex (homework is out of the question when you have access to dick nearly 24 hours a day, but that's a given). But you're both still young after all, so it really doesn't affect you as much as it should. You are elated, used to spending your days alternating between frequent bouts of depression and anxiety with a paper due an hour before midnight. You expect sleepless nights, welcome them to a point, but it's nice when there's someone to share it with. In fact, you both are currently sprawled out on your bed, sheets covered in wet spots where his semen and your fluids have created stains.

You are in the middle of giving his crotch a tongue bath, enjoying running your moist tongue down his delectable taint and teasing his asshole while he films it with a RotomDex that belonged to him as a child. What you both really should be doing is getting a hustle on to the ferry so he can get home, but it doesn’t leave until 4:30. You said that three hours ago and here it was now fifteen minutes after four, but you’re still the least bit surprised when he suddenly pulls your head up by the hair and looks frightened.

"Hey..." he mutters quietly.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes!” you whine, “Let me eat you out!”

“Not that…” Guzma responds. He’s pale, as though he’s just come to some horrific realization, "You're on the pill, right?"

"No." you respond, then quickly so he doesn't take it the wrong way. "I don't need it anymore. I have a medical insert in my arm."

“The shit is that?” he asks.

“It’s like this skinny piece of plastic like a match that prevents me from getting pregnant or having a period for three years.”

"Huh?! You’re bullshitting babe!"

"It’s wild. Feel."

You scoot up from his crotch and sit on his naked lap, holding your arm up and taking his hand to feel an inch long hardened stick embedded under your skin. Guzma ends the recording and places his RotomDex off to the side; hardly needs assistance to find where your insert is when he sees two minute scars from the procedure, and he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you muttering "what the fuck" every few minutes. His calloused fingers rub against the hard protrusion under the dermis.

“What the fuck.” Guzma states.

“I know right?!”

“What. The. Fuck. This is so fuckin’ weird!”

“Dude, I don’t know why my parents didn’t let me have it put in sooner like when I was first taking my island trials.” You respond. Guzma alternates between touching the insert and listening, yet for the life of him he could not desist from touching while you talked, weighing the benefits versus the hindrances.

“Like seriously, I haven’t gotten my period in months and it’s just fucking magnificent. I feel fucking free! Took about three pregnancy tests though because I’m paranoid that I’ve suddenly become the next Virgin Ma- ok now can you chill and like stop please?”

You nudge away his hand, but like a stubborn Cutiefly he returns to try and touch it.

“It’s just like so fuckin’ weird!” he protests, “It’s a fuckin’ piece of plastic in your arm!”

“Yes now stop it!” you insist, “You’re making my arm hurt.”

“Just lemme touch-“

“Get off Guzma we gotta go!”

“SHIT!”

All he has to do is pull up his pants, walk out of the apartment and wait for you outside the car. You emerge in a tizzy after ignoring your personal hygiene, and your driving nearly gets you into an accident on the way to the marina. The fear of getting a traffic ticket doesn’t nearly come close to the sudden anxiety you experience after buying Guzma a ticket to Ula’Ula Island. And besides, you didn’t even get one on the way, so it’s all jello by the time you get him his one way ticket and walk him to the passenger gate. His jacket is rolled up in one arm, so he can’t completely engulf you with his arms when he goes in for a hug and this scares you for some reason. A bad omen.

“Don’t go.” You murmur into his soft chest.

“Gots to babe.” He insists, cupping your butt cheek with one hand and kissing your forehead affectionately. His breath still smells like pussy, didn’t have time to brush or shower this morning because you two kept fooling around.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” you ask warily.

“ ‘Course I’m gonna come back babe. You’re my girl. Ain’t gonna leave my baby girl hangin’.”

“So you really mean it then?”

“Yeah I do. They’re callin’ the last passengers babe, gotta go-“

“You promise??”

“Babe, I gotta go!”

You go in for a kiss as he turns and runs to just make it on the ferry. At first you’re a little put out. Yet when you catch sight of him waving at you from the boat, his hand flailing and a big ol’ toothy cheeser on his face, you can’t help but smile at wave back. At least you got his Dex number. That’s the important part.

“I love you!” you mouth to him just as the horn sounds on the ferry. He doesn’t notice and goes back inside, while you turn and head back to your car.

“Well… fuck me I guess…” you mutter bitterly. Rotom pings sadly in your purse. You look to your open bag and see its blank face staring at you, a crying emoticon on the screen.

“You don’t think he’ll come back?” you ask fearfully.

_Zzzt. I’m afraid the police will be at the apartment with the way you’ve been screaming for three dayzzz_.

“Ah, piss off you red fuckwit.” you growl as you tuck it back in your bag.

The drive home is uneventful. RotomDex reminds you to stop by a grocery store that’s the health food equivalent of Thrifty Megamart and buy some groceries for the house. Everything you’ve eaten this week has come out of the deli on campus or a box, so you splurge on fresh ingredients to make a crockpot minestrone soup that will last you for the week.

The parking lot is a bit empty for this time of day. You figure everyone is either out and about for the football game at Alola Stadium or that there’s another dance performance at Popplio Joy Hall as you pull into a spot. All the campus students shop at this Trader Slowbro’s and scour the parking lot for tourists to battle, so it’s a rarity to see outsiders in it. Yet you have no fear for weirdos lurking behind parked cars as you close the trunk of your car and trot to the nearest cart. The horn’s honk echoes rather forlornly as you lock and make your way to the building. You’re so glad that you’ve chosen a campus that effectively scares off the rest of the world and ignores its own students. UofA students never fight each other unless both parties are willing. You all understand the struggle.

“Hey Rotom.” you summon the friendly little PokéDex, and it pings and leaps up from your bag to float helpfully next to you. The grocery cart is full of reusable bags from the trunk of your car. Unfortunately at this store they still charge ten cents, and being in college you need every little bit of it.

“Hey Rotom,” you say again, “What do we need for the week?”

_Zzzt! Here izzz your lizzt for the week for Trader Slowbro’s: Frozen food. Popsicles. Juice. Eggzz. Milk. Cereal. Cheezzze Crackerzzzt. Meowth food canned and dry…_

He continues to dictate to you as you wander up and down the aisles of the market. You want to eat healthy after the minestrone runs out, so you select a variety of frozen vegetables that you can easily cook in the microwave. For each item that is on your list, RotomDex pings and checks it off while calculating the price. You pass by the berries nonchalantly. Ordinarily back home you would be buying them for the house, but ever since you went to college you found that eating for one means stuffing crackers into your mouth while watching the healthy berries spoil. You’ll have to do without Nanab berries for the time being.

But then you think, doesn’t Guzma count as a second roommate? Surely he’ll be back… He has to come back. Didn’t he spend all of the evening after The Oral Sex saying that you were his girl now? You pause in the middle of the fruit, looking at the delectable Alolan Pinap berries that you found out were actually sweet here in the islands, then back to the Nanab berries which were your absolute favorites. What the hell, you decide after a minute, and throw them in. Even if Guzma doesn’t come, at least you have your favorites. Everything else is snack food. Cookies. Chips. Goldeen crackers. General crap that is easily accessible to your ever hungry stomach. You swear the Freshman Fifteen has turned into the Freshman Fifty, or maybe the Senior Fifty since this will be the last semester you’ll ever spend here at the University. But you can’t think about that right now. You have groceries to buy.

Getting home is a chore in of itself with all those damn groceries. Once you’ve made at least five trips back and forth from the car, you wearily let your RotomDex out of your purse and let him meander with your other Pokémon as you unload the groceries and put them away. Meowth and Mimikyu have returned from their hiding spot under the bed after being traumatized from your lewd moans and Guzma’s spankings, and Golisopod is free to resume his role of protector of the house as he buzzes happily upon your return. Salazzle and Sharpedo are still in the PC box, and you decide that tomorrow before creative writing you’ll stop by a Pokémon center and get them out for a little while. Both small Pokémon wait around your feet as you unload the fridge and freezer items. Meowth eventually loses interest in winding herself dangerously around your legs and opts instead to go play with the grocery bags. Mimikyu runs his shadow claw softly down your bare leg, feeling like an ice cube melting down your skin to your feet where he plays with your toes.

“Whatcha doin’ babby?” you coo, picking him up and rocking him in your arms. “Miss mommy?”

“Kyuuuuu…”

“I got you some Gourmet Ghastly food just like you wanted. And you,” you indicate to Meowth who is jealous of all the attention Mimikyu is getting, “I got you some Fussie Meowth. Golisopod gets his freeze dried Magikarp, and I get my Goldeen Fish. And no you can’t have any Clove.”

Mimikyu is clingy and whiny, staying stuck to you like a Staryu as you go about the kitchen putting things away and contemplating the boxes. You’re not very hungry once you look at everything put away neatly in the cupboards. Just the least bit upset as you finish your chores and lay down on your bed where Mimikyu makes a nest out of the covers to settle in beside you. You’re lying on Guzma’s side, smelling his musk in the pillows and wondering if you’ll ever get a call back after he’s been sated with three days of ravenous sex and various pastas.

You lay there for what feels like hours in restless contemplation. At first you thought you blew it spewing out the “I love you” after sucking his dick. Not the best place for a love confession you admitted, but what the hell could you do? Love came naturally to you. The first time a guy had ever taught you how to suck dick you told him the same thing. In your mind, he must have felt something. Anyone who could lavish so much attention on a person had to be sincere.

But that had blown up in your face… He’d laughed and told you “You don’t know what you’re saying”.

It was hard to explain. You DID love him in the span of the few days that you knew him. How could anyone understand how your feelings worked? Guzma couldn’t understand. He’d kind of played it off after you swallowed his hot load and just relaxed with you on the bed, fingering you while you came over and over. But after every orgasm was punctuated with an “I love you” he stopped you and told you the same thing.

“You don’t know what your sayin’.” he’d said. Only he hadn’t laughed. Instead he looked mournful, as though there was no way you could really mean it.

“Yes I do!” you insisted. “I really love you! I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t mean it!”

“You only say it after you cum.” Guzma replied gravely. “You wasn’t sayin’ it in casual conversation when you came home from school.”

“But I mean it!”

You’d argued like this back and forth until you cried. You couldn’t explain it to him any better than he could try and make sense of it, and you’d left it at that in favor of exploring each other’s bodies. He’d been a bit distant after that, your “I love yous” were only met with silence.

“This sucks.” you whisper to yourself. Mimikyu only sighs.

A FaceTime notification pinging on Rotom interrupts your silent tears. The sentient machine floats in a spooky spectral ghost way into your room, ringing and blinking simultaneously with an emoji on the screen inquiring if you want to accept the call. You manage to capture it on the last ring.

“Hello?!” you inquire breathlessly.

_“Hi babe!”_

His voice is enthusiastic, childish even. The screen takes a bit of time to buffer with the wifi connection, and Guzma’s delayed image appears on Rotom’s face screen. He’s smiling. You can see up his nostrils as he looks down at the camera, and the large gap between his front teeth is such a welcoming, familiar sight that you can’t help but feel twenty years return to your life. The background he’s in however, is not at all welcoming.

“Jesus!” you cry out, “Were you robbed?!”

“ _Uh? No? What’re you talkin’ about babe?_ ” Guzma asks.

“Where are you at?”

“ _My house._ ”

“So then why is there all that stuff all over your wall?! Your house is a mess! Is that broken glass?”

He laughs hard, taking the Rotom’s camera and giving you the panoramic tour of what looks to be his room. Everything is dark and desolate compared to the bright living clutter that is your room. Rather grimly, the gray wallpaper in view is peeling from an Ariados trying to make itself a nest and scratching it away. A disheveled bed that’s seen better days is shoved into a corner. From the delayed image you can just smell the worn green duvet spread out on it. There’s a massive shelf with dusty wine bottles by the bed, a mildewy carpet in maroon on the floor, and an old trunk with green things spilling out of it that you can’t quite make out through the pixelated screen from Guzma’s shitty wifi connection.

“ _‘s my pad! Been here ‘bout maybe, two year or three year, ‘n I just finished redecoratin’ it._ ” Guzma says proudly. “ _See the bed? That’s where I’m fuckin’ you next weekend._ ”

“Boy, you ain’t getting me on that bed or in that room. Not even if you paid me.” You joke, reclining into your pillows and smiling again because it’s just so good to hear from him. You’re relieved.

“ _Not even if I eat your ass?_ ” he inquires with a playful smile as the camera focuses on his face again.

“Boy you could dick me down so far up my ass cum could shoot out of my nose, and I still ain’t gettin’ up on that bed!” you say.

“ _Mmm… Yeah you are. Gonna dick you down on it whether you like it or not, know why?_ ”

“Why is that?” you grin.

“ _Because I’m stronger than you babe._ ” Guzma jokes. You can’t help but laugh, assuring him that all you have to do is grab his dick through his sweatpants and pull him away and he’ll follow. Putty in your hands. This type of joking continues back and forth, each of you making sport and idle sexual threats that only serve to turn you on and make you want to cry because he’s so far away. Ula’Ula is such a long way out in the ocean compared to your little apartment. It makes you feel small and vulnerable to have your big strong boy separated from you by the ocean. But what can you do? It’s not like you can quit now that the semester has just started.

“ _What’s my babe doin’?_ ” he asks. “ _I miss you._ ”

“I got some food from the grocery store, but I can’t eat it because I’m too sad.” you reply quietly. He whines, a Rockruff’s voice, his lower lip pouting outward and genuine concern crossing his face.

“ _Nooooo babe._ ” he mourns. “ _No sads for my baby._ ”

“All the sad.” You assert. “Because you left me here all alone and I miss you.”

“ _Come home to me._ ” he insists. “ _Ticket’s only two dollars for you with your discount. Come on home to me where you belong._ ”

“I’ve got school tomorrow though.” you mutter sadly. “I can’t miss a critique. Otherwise my teacher will throw a huge tantrum, especially since it’s the first critique of the semester.”

“ _The shit’s ‘critoke’?_ ”

“ _Critique_.” you repeat with a laugh, petting Mimikyu’s costume idly. Meowth jumps up on the bed to see the ruckus, sitting by your feet as you stroke her with your toes.

“ _That’s what I said babe, ‘critoke’. Y’all gonna get high?_ ”

“No. We all have to sit in a fucking circle while the person who wrote the creative writing story has to sit in the middle.” you explain, “They can’t talk, but we can, and we’re supposed to say what we liked about the story or what we think needs to be improved.”

“ _Oh_ …” he says, disinterested. “ _That’s lame_.”

“Not for me it isn’t.” you say, “I really like writing stories, and I hope that maybe this semester will be one of my better classes. In every single class I’ve had, I’ve never had a really good critique on my story…”

He listens intently as you tell him about your magnum opus, a story that involves a magical Sabeleye and her best friend (a willful, shiny Sentret) that go on magical adventures in an enchanted forest. It’s something you’ve been passionate about for a while, some of it is even based on your travels during your youth where you’d make up stories just to alleviate the loneliness. Guzma is a good listener, even asks you questions about how you made up the story then wonders if you’ll ever let him read it.

“Of course you can read it!” you reply enthusiastically. “I’d love for you to read my story!”

“ _Shit’s cool that you could come up with that. Never did anythin’ like that when I was a kid._ ” he says. You can tell he’s moved from his chair to the musty looking bed because he’s lying on his side, and his voice gets low and husky whenever he gets to lay down.

“I used to major in Communications and Journalism, but I quit when it got hard and so now I just do my writing.” you reply. Meowth comes up to you, nuzzling her way into the RotomDex’s camera and meowing when she sees Guzma.

“ _Mean your parents actually let you quit somethin’?_ ” he asked.

“That’s the beauty about college.” you say, booping Meowth’s nonexistent nose and making her sneeze. “No one to disappoint but yourself. It’s your wampum you’re paying with, and parents aren’t allowed to look at grades.”

“ _Mph_ … _Ain’t about that school shit_.” he grunts. “ _Got my pad ‘n a job, ‘s all I need for me._ ”

“I can’t wait to get out of here though.” you sigh. “It’s like I told you when you were here, I don’t have a life. I’m basically trapped in this shitty place where I barely have time for friends or anything unless I procrastinate, and there are some dumb shits here that still think high school never ended for them. Too many pretentious twats who think they’re too good for everyone else. I can’t wait to get it over with.”

“ _So just quit it then_.” Guzma tells you. “ _Say fuck it like you did wit that last thing and just come over here with me._ ”

“And your musty ass bed.” you laugh.

“ _And my musty ass bed where I’m gonna fuck you next week_.”

“Why don’t you come here again?” you ask. “You’re basically home here.”

“ _Ain’t got no money left._ ” he grimaces. “ _An’ boss don’t wanna pay me ‘till I get some shit together. Why can’t you come see me? Ticket is cheap. We could go to the beach by my house, an’ I’ll let ya stay with me the weekend, it’ll be fun._ ”

“Hmm…”

You consider the offer. It would be nice to take a weekend off and go on the ferry. You might even be able to use your old ride pager again if you can find it, that way the ride home isn’t so cost effective. That would mean though that you’d need to stop again at your dad’s before you left and pick up some spending money for the two of you. Ula’Ula isn’t exactly known to be cheap, especially with bus fare.

“I’ll see.” you respond. “But mostly it’s definitely a yes. Where do you live anyways?”

“ _Jus’ come meet me at the entrance to Ula’Ula meadow. I’ll come pick ya up. Bring a jacket though or your umbrella. ‘S always raining at my pad._ ”

“Ok!” you grin. “See you then! I gotta go do some stuff around the house baby, so I’ll text you! I love you.”

“… me too.”

It’s such a small thing, an afterthought of a sentence that at first you don’t catch it until you hang up. But he did say it… Didn’t he?

Maybe… Who knows. You decide that you’ll be giddy and stupid when you confirm through text in a minute. For now, you’re so energized that a nice helping of Torchic and Stars noodle soup with a grilled cheese sounds just about right.

It’s nice talking to Guzma. His support has enough power to motivate you into doing better for yourself. You hope the trip to Ula’Ula comes fast.


	4. Obligatory Po Town Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Exactly what the title says, but you're not actually going into it just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The critique at the beginning of the story is based on real life events that actually happened in one of my creative writing classes. I don't know how the hell some people get bachelors degrees. I'm scared.

“I just don’t understand why you have to put in all these made up words in your story. Like lum berry, or like Necrozma, because it really takes away from the story-”

“Sarah… Necrozma is a legendary Pokémon of Alola that has been a part of obscure fiction for centuries.”

“… Oh.”

“And lum berries are what you make alcohol from. You should know that, we have a brewery right across from campus…”

“Well how should I know that?! I only drink sparkling water!”

“You can see the sign from the window! Toa Brewers: Freshly Fermented Lum Berry Spirits and Tapas!”

The day of critique, which just so happens to be the day you’re leaving with Guzma for the weekend, is a complete shit show. The alcoholics of class argue with the girl who didn’t know lum berries existed. You sit silently at your desk by the corner, clenching your fists and trying not to scream. As usual, everyone else writes their obscure John Everyman stories that have nothing to do with anything. It’s all a bunch of bullshit realism that bores you to tears, and the writers are no better. After presenting your story to the class workshop you become absolutely convinced that these people cheated their way into the English program. They don’t understand metaphor or proper grammar. One dude thought it was ok to write a graphic forced sex scene and just not tell anyone beforehand. Another one didn’t even turn in a readable draft, two pages instead of the minimum of 5 and the teacher did nothing. And then there’s people like Sarah, the lum berry denier, who huffs indignantly from her seat. You knew her for what she was the minute you walked into class. A total frat girl Becky in shorties and obnoxious hoop earrings who wrote a story with Kalosian words she found from Google (her critique is next week, and you can’t wait to tear her dumb ass to shreds), and ironically the girl who inevitably caused the hookup between you and Guzma. You would have never pegged her for a creative writing major, or would have ever thought she could be remotely creative at all. This whole lum berry argument just proves your point.

Rush, the blonde who defended Necrozma’s place in the story, sits back in his smelly winter overcoat and drones on about how Sarah’s comments should be disregarded by the author.

“I think for the time being the author can disregard those… ahem… _Interesting_ comments from our peer. Moving on, I think that it’s completely unrealistic to have such a high amount of gay Pokémon in your story. Pokémon are physically incapable of being gay, and they will never have the capacity to be gay. Because homosexuality is probably a social construct-”

Your friend TJ cringes next to you in her seat.

“I think those comments can be disregarded as well.” she says. “Sexuality of the character shouldn’t have anything to do with what the author can improve on.”

Your other friend Will backs up your artistic choices and gives you legitimate advice.

“The author’s use of semicolons needs work, she needs a stronger drive for the protagonist, and rules of the world need to be expanded upon such as when Susie Sabeleye is able to perform magic with the enchanted Foongus.”

“I agree.” TJ responds. “In fact I think that Pinky the Furret needs a stronger motivation for wanting to dismantle the Blue Morelull Society. Who is this organization? Why are they important to the story? We need to get a clearer sense of these goals…”

In all, you realize that your last semester isn’t at all going to be the big game changer you thought it would. Instead it’s the same old shit, different level class. As usual, the only ones who are actually invested in the class and want to improve is your immediate circle of friends. No one else wants to offer any feedback. They’re literally just here for an easy A and to make it seem as though they are deep, multifaceted individuals when really, they’re nothing of the sort. Just the same, mundane faces that think they can be the next Hemmingway because they weren’t actually good enough to do anything with school or with Pokémon. You actually begin to miss your two hundred level courses.

“I think we ought to wrap this up and return the author’s texts for now.” says your wishy washy instructor after TJ and Will end their wonderful analyses, “We’re running overtime for Will’s critique and we won’t be able get to her until next week. Turn in your critiques, and have a great weekend.”

There’s a collective sigh as everyone stands and hands you back their chicken scratch. Sarah shoots you an awkward glance and laughs like a Becky before taking her leave. Will and TJ merely hand you their papers, patting your shoulders as they collect their stuff and get ready to exit the room.

“I thought it was a great story.” says Sean, an ex-Pokémon professor from another region. “I’d like to read more of it if you ever get the chance. It reminds me of when I went on my first Pokémon journey.”

“Yeah.” you reply unenthusiastically. Your confidence is shot to shit, and all you want to do is go. “Totally. Will do.”

Will and TJ wait with you as everyone compliments you and exits the room. They’re silent. Watching everyone gibber and howl as they discussed weekend plans and exchanged anxieties about sending off their stories to the critique. Once everyone has completely vacated, TJ’s eyes widen and she lets out a howl of breath.

“I was going to fucking KILL Rush for his homophobic bullshit.” Will says, breaking the silence.

“RIGHT?!” you cry. “What the fuck was that shit about!? ‘You don’t need gays in your story, it’s not realistic in a fantasy setting’. MOTHERFUCKER THESE POKEMON CAN TALK.”

“If they can talk then gays are allowed in.” says TJ. “You better keep that part in the story. Fucker thinks that I can’t exist in fiction, then he’s going to be shocked during my critique when my character the GAY DRAGON POKEMON TRAINER comes out to play.”

“Yeah, I think if you do that he’ll fucking explode.”

“Good!”

“I can just hear him now: ‘Dragon type tamers can’t be gay because the fantasy world genre doesn’t work like that.’ Bitch, no one needs to be a fucking hetero all the time!”

The three of you walk out of the classroom with linked arms, laughing at the expense of your idiotic classmates and relishing the friendship you all share. A couple students watch you pass and wonder what the joke is; little do they know they themselves are the butt of the joke. It isn’t until you leave Macargo Hall that the three of you unlink arms and discuss weekend plans and classes. Both Will and TJ are envious that you’re so bold as to take a whole day off this early into the semester. When the three of you are together, the world feels a little less cold and frightening, and the looming threat of May when graduation will commence seems as though it is years away. Will has been your friend since you were children, and her bubbly mothering attitude is the only thing keeping you together in this land of isolation. TJ has only known you for a year, a friend made in an English class that you struggled in, but you both cannot survive without each other now. The three of you make up the killer trio of the University, each of you possessing a signature Pokémon that almost always battles first; yours is Meowth, TJ’s is a formidable Rapidash, and Will is never without a rowdy Pidgeot. Every decision regarding Pokémon trainers both on campus and off is first run by you three with a personal audience with the Dean of Students. On occasion, some brave strategist tries to challenge the three of you for a spot in the hierarchy. Yes you’ve lost to these types of people, but always their battles leave them shaken to the core, and they cannot manage to relinquish the title to three fair and kind people such as yourselves. In the end, college students don’t care. People graduate, or drop out, and the title always somehow manages to come back to you three. It’s not a status like the champion. It’s really just bragging rights, and an extra annoyance come exam time when the last thing everyone wants to do is study.

Campus is almost dead by the time your class gets out. A few students are walking around campus with their Pokémon, the latest fad is an app on the Rotom Dex that requires them to get out and walk to collect coins for virtual prizes. Will and TJ have been keeping up with this game religiously. Their Rotom Dexes ping happily once you pass by the Psyduck Pond, collecting coins and leveling up their characters.

“What’s the duffel bag for?” TJ asks.

“Oh, I’m spending the weekend with a gentleman friend on Ula’ Ula. I figured I should pack some stuff that way I’m not using a Charizard to run back and forth for all the crap I forgot.”

“A gentleman friend?” TJ says skeptically. “Why not just say he’s your fuck boy and be honest.”

“TJ, I’m trying to make it seem like I’m sophisticated and have good morals here. You’re ruining the image.” you whine.

“This is the same guy you took home from the party right?” Will says scrunching her nose. “Grody… You’re going to his house? Did you ever get the results back from that STD test?”

“I have one more week to wait before anything shows up according to the dude from the LGBTQ center.” you reply. “They won’t test me until then.”

“You know you’re going to have to take responsibility for your own shit and not rely on the campus gays to monitor your shitty decisions right?” TJ tells you. “Fuckin’ straights I swear to God…”

“I know, I know. We’re all the fucking same.” you insist. “Honestly TJ I didn’t think this would get so involved. I really like the dude, and I’m excited that he invited me to come stay with him a few days. He’s very considerate! He promised me he’d take me to his own private beach.”

“I just hope you’re getting into this relationship for the right reasons. Not just because you’re lonely or something idiotic like that.” TJ says. She puts her hand on your shoulder and you look to the floor. “I know it’s been five years since The Big Ex, but you’ve gotta let it go. That wasn’t even in this region.”

“This has nothing to do with that creep.” you reply in earnest. “It’s totally different. I swear. Guzma is a good guy. Doesn’t steal from me, or expect me to do anything for him.”

“Either way,” Will replies, “I haven’t forgiven that asshat scum for ruining your summer the last time. And if this one fucks with you I’m having his head on a silver platter.”

“Foxy is going to kick him in the head with her diamond hooves.” TJ nods. “I’ll be sure of it. And you’re telling me where his house is so I can fly over there if I need to.”

“Yes! Me too! Where is he meeting you again?” Will asks.

“Ula’ Ula Meadow.” you respond, bringing it up on the ride pager map. “Wouldn’t tell me where the house is, but Rotom is set to SOS mode in case I need my address pinged. The ride pager still has Will as my emergency contact, and I put in TJ just in case Will is in class.”

“I’ll be at work this weekend, but I’ll be keeping an eye out now that I take Foxy for her ride.” says TJ. “Let me know when you land.”

“Will do!”

You hold your ride pager to the sky, the ball blinks, and a seasoned Charizard plops down almost instantly. Campus has a few ride pager stations close by in case a bit of inter-island travel is needed, so all a Pokémon has to do is respond and head over to campus once it’s pinged by a signal. At this time of day, you’re glad there’s not a wait. Usually a bunch of students are clamoring for a Pokémon to go home. Will and TJ wave goodbye to you as you mount and ascend into the clouds. It’s not too rough of a ride. The Charizard goes slow enough for you to send out a message to Guzma on Rotom that you’re on your way to Ula’ Ula Meadow. It’s been forever since you’ve had a ride on a Pager Pokémon. When was the last time you actually did a bit of inter-island travel? Your parents hadn’t really taken you anywhere over summers anymore, usually you and Meowth just sat around playing, or sometimes you’d take Sharpedo down to the beach and do a bit of surfing during winter classes. Bellow you is nothing but sea, above there’s only the rush of freedom as the wind whips through your hair, free from having to wear that ridiculous ride gear required for all trainers under 15. Charizard has your duffel bag in his hands, and once you make your descent to the island he lets out a plume of smoke from his mouth.

“Thank you so much.” you tell him as you land. You slip a twenty in the pocket on his harness and he huffs a thank you, flying back off to the nearest station for a refuel. It’s nice tipping the pager Pokémon because they seem so happy, almost as if they could go to the store themselves and buy some treats.

Duffel bag in hand, you make your way into the foggy meadow. The flowers are obscured by a purple haze that just barely blocks out the sun, but on occasion it showers you with a bit of light. Few people are out in the meadow, it’s just you and a couple young girls collecting red nectar. You hear the cries of wild Pokémon as they frolic among the flowers. You’d come here once as a child for a bit of nectar for your Oricorio, but you never lingered in it long enough or been to the area beyond it. You’d gone as far as the old Thrifty Megamart site for the ghost challenge, but no one really ventured out north of the meadow for much of anything. At least not when you were a kid. Who knew what sort of things happened beyond the meadow nowadays? Living on campus was like living in your own private world. Sometimes the outside world would leak into your little bubble, but most of the time the only news was what little dramas and such happened within campus walls.

“Hey Rotom?” you ask, and the ghost Pokémon pings in response.

“ _Yes? Zzt!_ ”

“Tell Guzma ‘I’m here.’, and send a separate message to TJ and Will.”

“ _Message sent! What do you want to say to Will and TJ Group Chat?_ ”

“Tell Will and TJ ‘I’m here in Ula’ Ula Meadow. Waiting for Guzma, will text later tonight.’ “ you respond.

“ _Ready to send it? Zzt!_ ”

“Send.”

“ _Consider it done pal!_ ”

A whooshing noise and smiley face emoji confirms that Rotom has sent your messages. After a few seconds, you get a thumbs up from Will and a “be safe” from TJ, who sends you a selfie of herself and her Rapidash. Guzma takes a while to respond but he finally does. “OMW” is his short response. For a bit of company, you take out Meowth from her Pokéball and put her harness on so she can walk around with you on the wooden bridges and smell the flowers without getting into trouble. Her curlicue tail raises in the air as you two pace around the short walkway. Meowth is interested in everything. Here she sniffs a flower, swatting at it then meowing at you when she can’t reach it. When you reach out and get it for her to smell she sneezes and prances along the wooden platforms, her nails making clicking noises against the grain of the wood. You lift her in your arms and cradle her like a baby, whispering nonsense words in her little ears and laughing when she paws your face with dainty toe beans.

“Hey! Didn’t keep ya long did I?”

Guzma comes running up to the two of you. Meowth freaks and jumps out of your arms, but with the harness and leash she can’t get very far. You’re wrapped in a tight Guzma hug where you inhale the scent of his shirt deeply to commit it to memory. How you’ve missed his warmth and strength!

“I missed you bebe!” you respond in a shrill voice.

“Missed ya too… Only been what, like a week though?” he grins, nuzzling your face with his nose and rubbing his stubble cheeks all over.

“Too long for me.” you trill. “I even ditched class tomorrow just so I could spend a nice three day weekend with you.”

“Tch… Lookit ya, ditchin’ classes ‘n shit just for ya boy?” he croons, his hands wandering to your butt where he massages your cheeks softly. “This dick must be good if the schoolgirl’s not goin’.”

You make a face and give him a raspberry that he responds to by licking a stripe from your nose to the middle of your eyebrows. A shrill laugh escapes your mouth.

“I brought all my Pokemon with me in case you wanna wander around and head into Malie City.” you tell him breathlessly. “Maybe we can rent movies at the library and do some shopping, or get a fancy dinner? My treat!”

“Heh, better not tease me like that beb, Imma clean out ya shit if ya take me to that real cool sushi place they got. I love the Ronin Set, keeps me goin’ for weeks if I get that direct deposit.” Guzma takes your duffel and offers his hand like a gentleman. You love his big hands, especially now that his long fingers and wide palm dwarfs your own as he leads you north of the meadow and to his home.

“C’mon. Let’s take this somewheres private. Gotta getcha all cleaned up and warm real nice so I can have my way with ya later.” Guzma grins. “Missed my baby girl so much. How you been?”

“Ugh…” is your response. “I’ll show you the papers I got back from my critique. It was a complete shit show.”

Guzma glowers. “They wasn’t mean to you was they?”

“Oh no, not mean. Just stupid idiots. Reading and comprehension is in shambles at that school, and I’m convinced they either screwed or cheated their way into the four hundred level English classes. Let’s not talk about that until we’ve gotten some food, I’m too hungry to feel rage.”

“If ya need me to, I’ll be takin’ names and walkin’ ya to school next time you got this class…” he says, grip tightening so hard on your hand you squeak a bit.

“Ow!” you exclaim. Meowth pulls at the leash, meowing her little head off and eager to be going somewhere. “Don’t squeeze me Guzma.”

“Shit… sorry…”

Guzma seems sheepish and apologetic. You wave it off, insisting that you’ll tell him everything as soon as you get to his house. This seems to soothe him. During the week that you’d been waiting to see him he called you drunk, and you’d gotten a taste of what the real Guzma really was. He’d apologized over and over, crying that he’d never had a true babe like you to fawn over him, wondering if you hated him because he’d asked you out so suddenly. He was a mess. You reassured him however, that you both had astonishingly good chemistry. You liked him a lot. He was a best friend you could rely on, perfect boyfriend material, but you told him honestly that you didn’t do one night stands. Either he stayed serious about the relationship, or you both walked. He’d been shocked that you were serious about him that way, telling you fervently that yes, he was serious too, and he wanted someone who would ride or die.

“I need a real friend.” Guzma had slurred, “ ‘n yer the closes’ I ever got ta that… I needa girl who can be my friend firs’ ‘n my babe second. Ain’t never been one true like you been.”

“Same for you Guzma.” you’d told him, “I love you so much.”

“ ‘n I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.” he’d warbled.

On the way the two of you chat animatedly, picking up as naturally as though you’ve been around each other for years. It was fun having him as a friend. Together the conversation flowed naturally into interesting things you both noticed or were interested in. You wondered how dating someone who wasn’t your best friend was socially acceptable. Guzma had the capacity to make you laugh, or he’d astonish you with a smart insight and challenge your way of thinking. Or he’d ask you what you thought of a topic and you’d respond with great enthusiasm, loving the way he watched you intently and paid close attention to everything you said. He was elated for this sleepover weekend because he’d managed to get some extra money together after paying bills and intends to treat you to a nice restaurant for your first night at his place. All of his roommates were busy doing their own thing, so you’d have tonight and the next all to yourselves.

“Thinkin’ mebbe we can watch somethin’ on my computer, getcha all oiled up ‘n fuck a bit. After I getcha settled in with some food of course.” he smiles, looking as though he’s been waiting for this a long time. “You pick whatcha wanna eat, ‘n after we put yer bags in we can go get it.”

“I want something warm.” you reply. “Like soup. Or warm, slippery delivery food. It’s pretty cold here on Route 17, how much farther to your house?”

“Not too much further up, but I think that can be arranged babe, if I could borrow your ride pager ‘n all so I can go pick up somethin’? You wanna eat some hot Miltank burgers from the joint in Malie?”

“Sure.” you smile. “Then we can just hide at home away from the rain, it’s freezing!”

Even Meowth retreats hastily into the duffel bag with only a portion of her little face sticking out of the zipper so she can breathe. The rain on Route 17 is cold, nothing like the warm tropical rains you get back home or on campus. Guzma rushes you the best he can without slipping on the cobblestone pathway that tries its best to fight against the overgrown grass. You’re uneasy, but mostly from how deserted everything looks. A lone police station that looks as though it’s seen better days has a window light glinting in the distance. You’ve never been out this way before, but the large sea wall that glares in the distance gives away the location.

Po Town.


End file.
